


high pressure low

by familyheathen



Series: peter parker's bs (haha) [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, I Love Peter, Medical TW, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, blood tw, he is good, injection tw, peter parker has t1d, swearing tw, this is platonic, type 1 diabetic peter parker, type one diabetes, vomit tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-16 09:05:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/familyheathen/pseuds/familyheathen
Summary: Peter Parker's blood sugar goes low in the middle of the night. Tony Stark is grateful for technology.





	1. urgent low

**Author's Note:**

> we're pretending pete can go on patrol when he stays at the compound even though its upstate
> 
> also projecting onto my fav characters is fun
> 
> aka tony stark literally saves petes life
> 
> also idk if im actually doing chapter two or not but if i do i have it set up to where i can so ya
> 
> also i have t1d !! my diagnosis date was 5-10-15. i'll try and reply to comments as i can but its stressful sksksk

 

Peter forgot to turn his phone back up after being on patrol. For anyone else, this would result in a missed alarm. Being late to school or to a meeting. Embarrassing, yes, but ultimately unimportant. For Peter, it isn’t that simple. 

 

After patrol, he came back into the compound and  _ crashed _ , meaning he didn’t get a snack before bed. And because his metabolic system is even more  _ fucked _ because of the spider-bite, Peter’s blood sugar went low.  _ Really low _ . 

 

And he didn’t know, because his phone was silenced. 

 

Tony awoke to four shrill beeps coming from his phone. 

 

“Motherfucker. FRIDAY, what is it?” Tony said, rolling over into his pillow. 

 

The AI responded. “You have an urgent low glucose alert from Peter. Would you like to open it?”

 

“What?” Tony shrieked. He shot up, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. He unlocked it. 

 

_ 47. _

 

_ One arrow straight down. _

 

_ Fuck.  _

 

Tony practically ran to Peter’s room. He didn’t bother knocking, and opened Peter’s door. 

 

“Hey, kid? You up?” Tony said softly. He saw Peter fast asleep in bed, in a cold sweat with a look of discomfort on his face. He walked to him, and lightly nudged his shoulder. 

 

“Pete, bud. Wake up, your blood sugar’s low.” Tony said gently. Peter’s eyes fluttered open. 

 

“Wh-what?” the kid rubbed his eyes. He wore a look of confusion. 

 

“Did you know your sugar’s low, Pete?” 

 

“Wh- it- it isn’ m’ phone didn’ be-beep.” Peter sounded completely disoriented.    
  


Tony’s anxiety increased. He grabbed the meter bag laying on Pete’s nightstand.    
  
“Peter, dex says you’re forty-seven and dropping. I’m gonna do a blood check, okay? What finger do you want me to check on?”

 

“Don’t care.” Peter stuttered. He pulled his knees to his chest. 

 

Tony grabbed his hand softly, knowing he feels like complete shit. He wiped an alcohol pad across his ring finger before pricking and depositing the blood onto the test strip. Tony anxiously waited the five seconds for the meter to read. _39_. Oh boy. 

 

Tony kept his calm, at least on the outside. 

 

“Wha’is it?” Peter slurred. 

 

Tony didn’t want to make him freak out. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. You’re really low. I’ll be back, I’m gonna go get you some juice, okay?”

 

Peter gave a small nod. 

 

Tony returned less than two minutes later with a glass of orange juice in one hand and a spoon of peanut butter in the other. (And a glucagon in the pocket of his pajama pants, just in case.)

 

“Hey, Pete. With me, bud? I brought you some OJ.”

 

“Mhmm.” Peter confirmed. Tony looked at the boy. He looked pitiful.

 

“It’s got a straw, so I’m gonna hold it, okay?” Tony made sure to keep talking to him to keep him awake. 

 

Peter took a few small sips of juice from the glass before pulling away with a disgusted look on his face.

 

“Nauseous.” the boy mumbled. 

 

“Oh, I know, Pete. You’ve gotta try and drink it though, kiddo. Do you wanna try the peanut butter?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Tony handed him the spoon. Right before Peter got it to his mouth, he dropped the spoon onto his shirt. Tony chuckled, and helped Peter hold the spoon steady. 

 

“Did you eat when you came in late from patrol?” 

 

“No.” Peter responded sheepishly.

 

“Pete, gotta try and remember that.”

 

Peter had consumed about half of his low treatment. Tony looked at his phone. It had been about ten minutes since the last check, and he decided he should check peter again.  _ 48 _ . 

 

“Can you drink the rest of your juice for me?”

 

“I ‘an try.”

 

Tony held the glass for him again, and he finished the glass, along with the peanut butter. Peter kept trying to nod off. 

 

“Please don’t fall asleep. I know lows make you tired but you gotta stay awake for me, Underoos.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize bud, I’m just worried about you.” Tony looked the kid somberly. In attempt to keep Peter stirring, he asked “How was patrol?”. 

 

“Good. I got kitty outta th’ tree.” 

 

Tony smiled. “How’d you do that?”

 

“This ol’ lady was like ‘yo, Spider-Man, my kitty’s in th’ tree!’ an’ I’s like, ‘okay’, and I shot a web at a branch, an’ climbed up, an’ grabbed the cat, an’ I slid down.” Peter recounted.

 

“Little hero.” Tony smiled, ruffling Peter’s hair.    
  
“She offer’ t’ buy me a churro bu’ my sugar was kin’a high so I wouldn’ let ‘er.”

 

“Good kid, Pete. Wanna check your sugar again?” 

 

“Mhmmm.”

 

Tony did yet another blood check, not trusting the CGM with his glucose that low. 

 

“It’s been about 10 minutes since you finished off that juice, and you’re forty-three. What do you wanna do, bud? Want some gluc tabs or something?” 

 

“I told you this mornin’, I’m out.”

 

Tony called out to the room. “FRIDAY, express order some glucose tabs, will you?”

 

“Yes, sir. What kind shall I order?”

 

“Tropical fruit ones!” Peter called out, smearing the words. 

 

“Whatever the kid wants. They’re nasty, he’s the one that has to eat ‘em.”

 

“Your order should arrive tomorrow morning at ten A.M..”

 

“Thanks, FRI.” Tony directed his attention back at Peter. 

 

“C-crackers?”

 

“Crackers- yeah, crackers. I’ll be right back.” 

 

“Okay, I have returned. I wield cheese and crackers.”

 

Peter snickered. “Thanks, Mr. Stark, for takin’ care of me.” 

 

“You don’t have to thank me, kid. It’s part of my job.” Tony chuckled. He thought Peter seemed to be acting better.   
  
Peter smiled. “C-can I have my crackers now? I wanna sleep.” he sighed. 

 

“Oh- yeah, of course.” Tony handed him the crackers and sat at the foot of Peter’s bed. 

 

“When do we need to retest?” Peter mumbled through a mouthful of cracker.

 

“Give it another fifteen, Pete. We just checked, remember?”

 

“Oh, yeah.”

 

“You okay?” 

 

It took a moment for him to respond.

 

“Uh, y-yeah.” Peter finally uttered quietly. “Jus’ low.” he huffed. “Think I’m droppin’ again.”

 

“That’s not good. No point in testing again yet- just eat.”

 

Peter continued to slowly eat his crackers. A few more minutes passed. Tony looked at his phone again. 

 

“Dex says you’re sixty-five. You trust it or want a blood check?”

 

Peter opened his mouth to respond but the words wouldn’t come to him. He was definitely dropping, or at the very least still quite low. He tapped the pad of his index finger with his thumb.

 

“Blood, got it.” Tony put another strip in the meter. “It’s been at least 20 minutes since juice  _ and _ peanut butter and you’re back down to thirty-nine. God damn it.”

 

Peter flashed a look on his faced that wordlessly said  _ I’m sorry _ .

 

“If you’re not above fifty-five in twenty more minutes I’m starting an orange juice IV.” Tony half-joked. Peter didn’t laugh. He didn’t have the energy. “Can you turn down your basals until you come up?” 

 

“C-can y-you do it?” Peter unclipped his pump from his waistband.

 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Tony fiddled with the device for a moment. “Half basal? An hour?” 

 

“Quarter. And two.” Peter replied dully.

 

“I don’t want you going high.”

 

“Mr. Stark, I couldn’t care less, I just want it to come  _ up _ .”

 

“You’re the boss. Quarter basals for two hours.” 

 

Peter sighed. “I’m sleepy.” The boy rubbed his eyes.

 

“I know you are, kid. I’m just paranoid you’ll be comatose instead of asleep.”

 

Peter only smirked. The two sat in silence for a while, with Tony nudging Peter softly every few minutes. Tony’s own eyes felt heavy, but he was too scared to even think of falling asleep.

 

“It’s been about fifteen minutes since your last check, I’m gonna stick you again.”

 

Peter shrugged. He couldn’t care less. 

 

“Three, two, one. Motherfucker!” Tony put his face in his palms. 

 

“What’s it now?” Peter whispered.

 

“Forty-five. You should be  _ at least  _ seventy by now.”

 

Peter huffed. 

 

“That’s it, I’m done. You’re getting gluced.”

 

“Mr. Stark, please don’t. I’ll be so high in the morning.” Peter half-assedly pleaded.

 

“I thought you said you didn’t care.” Tony darted.

 

“I thought you said you did.” Peter retortled.

 

“I do, but I also care about my kid not continuing to slowly drop into a hypoglycemic coma, so yeah; glucagon.” 

 

Peter’s eyes lit up when Tony called him his kid. Tony noticed and grinned

 

“I don’t even keep one in here.” Peter started.

 

“Nice cop-out, but I have one in my pocket.” Tony slid out the red box. “And you’d better start keeping one in here. There’s one in nearly every other room.”

 

Peter didn’t even respond. He knew Tony won. 

 

Tony deposited the saline into the vial, then proceeded to shake the contents and draw a quarter of it into a smaller syringe.

 

“Gimmie your arm.” Tony instructed. Peter obliged, obviously. Tony administered the injection without a forewarning to Peter, earning him a scowl. Tony laughed at him.

 

Another fifteen minutes passed, and Tony checked Peter a final time.  _ 78 _ . Tony breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at his phone, and saw that the CGM said Peter was steadily rising. He saw Peter had already dozed back off, and woke him only to tell him he should lay back down instead of propping up. 

 

Tony did leave a glass of juice on Peter’s bedside table before returning back to his own bed, though. Just in case. 

 

***

 

Peter awoke to his phone vibrating on his side table. He rolled out of bed. His head was pounding. He felt like he was dying. He needed water. And a bathroom. 

 

He looked at his bedside table, and saw a sticky note left atop his meter case. 

 

‘Check your BG, Parker. <3 - Tony’

 

Peter grabbed his phone out of his bed. Three missed calls, six missed texts, all from Tony. And A high glucose alert. Oh god. 

 

Peter opened the dexcom app. It read  _ HIGH _ and  _ rising _ . That explains why he feels so shitty. He checked his texts. 

 

_ You had a rough night. Try and stay on top of your stuff today, it was scary. _

 

_ Your sugar’s going up, kid. _

 

_ You’re like 180, might wanna correct before it goes up any more. _

 

_ Peter, you’re 300, check. Please.  _

 

_ You are literally 400, check your SHIT.  _

 

_ I’m just gonna call you until you answer the fucking phone. _

 

Midway through reading the texts, Peter got another call. He answered it.

 

“Hello?” he whispered, voice hoarse and groggy from his evident dehydration.

 

“Did you do a blood check yet?” Tony asked.

 

“Wh- I just woke up.” 

 

“I don’t care. Your meter’s on your side table. Check. Now, Pete.”

 

“Okay, okay.” Peter put the phone on speaker and laid it down. 

 

“What is it?” Tony was very impatient. “Oh, good morning.” he added as an afterthought. 

 

“I’m working on checking.” Peter replied. “Uh, hold on.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“My meter said error.” 

 

“New strip. Swab your finger.” 

 

“I know, I know. I’ve been doing this for years, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Tony, and I know. I’m just scared.” 

 

“It still says error.” Peter sighed.

 

“Check ketones.”

 

“On it.” he walked toward the bathroom. 

 

“Come right back!”

 

“I will, Mis- Tony.”

 

Peter tested for ketones. He almost dropped the bottle when he saw the result.  _ Large ketones _ . He threw away the strip and washed his hands.

 

“I’m back…” Peter muttered. 

 

“...And?”

 

The boy sighed. “Large ketones.” 

 

“Kid!”

  
  
  



	2. urgent high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's glucagon dosage made his glucose levels skyrocket. As well as his ketones. And Peter just really, really wants Subway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sksksks sorry this took so long for me to post its not even good oof
> 
> if u have requests then shoot me an ask on tumblr!! prttygrlsthmvr.tumblr.com
> 
> t1d! pete is like my fav hc right now i wanna write more so bad

“Kid!” 

 

“What?” What did I do?” 

 

“Nothing, just come on to the kitchen. We’ve gotta get it down.”

 

“I feel like shit.” the boy sighed.

 

“I know you do, Pete. We’ll fix it, it’s okay.” 

 

Peter made a noise of agreement. 

 

“I love you, kid.” Tony nudged after a moment of silence. 

 

“Love you too. I’ll be down in a minute.” 

 

Peter hung up and fell back on his bed.  _ Fuck. _

 

He begrudgingly made his way to the kitchen. He saw Tony leaning on the island, a cup of coffee pressed to his lips. Tony cocked his head when he saw Peter. 

 

“G’morning, underoos.” 

 

Peter glared at him. He felt particularly bitchy when he was high, and he did  _ not _ give a damn who he took it out on. He sat on a stool opposite where Tony stood.

 

“You’re too high for your meter to read?” Tony began.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Do you want to just assume you’re right at six-hundred and use that with your correction factor? Or do you want to go to the lab and take a blood sample so we know for sure?” 

 

“Option A.” 

 

“Okay. Can you retest for me just so we know there isn’t something wrong with that strip? Did you bring your meter bag?”

 

“Mhm.” Peter mumbled. He threw his bag on the counter and hastily checked. It still, for the third time, read an error. 

 

Tony sighed. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water before handing it to Peter.

 

“Drink, underoos.” 

 

Peter looked down and half-smiled sheepishly. Tony grabbed his insulin from the fridge. 

 

“What’s your correction factor right now? You changed it again didn’t you?”

 

“It’s a hundred-twenty-five over forty-five.” Peter took a sip of his water. “I was running high last week so I upped my dosages.”

 

“Okay. Er- six-hun- onetwefiv- for-” Tony calculated aloud. “Ten and a half?”

 

“Half that because I have ketones. I don’t wanna come down too fast.”

 

“Right. Five.” 

 

Tony began drawing up the insulin. “Did your pump turn back on last night?” 

 

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t even remember last night.”

 

“You got gluced, that’s why you’re so high. You had like, fifty carbs and would go above fifty.”

 

“Did you give a full vial or something?”

 

“Just a quarter.”

 

Peter nodded. Tony flicked an air bubble out to the syringe before handing it to Peter. The boy checked the dosage. 

 

“This is like, four units.” Peter observed. Tony took the syringe back from Peter. He corrected his mistake. 

 

Peter poked the needle into the top of his thigh, this time with the right amount of insulin inside of it. He recapped the needle and threw it to Tony. 

 

“Sharps.” 

 

Tony laughed. “Careful, kid. Don’t stab my eye out.” 

 

He placed the needle in the sharps container on the counter. 

 

“You need to drink your water, kid. You need to flush the ketones out.” Tony was concerned for the kid. 

 

“It’s making me even more nauseous.” Peter scowled. “I can’t right now.” 

 

“Try your best. You look dehydrated as it is.”

 

Peter shook his head. He took another sip, and returned his glass to the countertop. “I’ll be back.” He stood up.

 

“Where you goin’?” 

 

“Um, to pee?” Peter casted a strange look at Tony. “I have large ketones?”

 

“Check ketones again.”

 

“You know I will.” 

 

“Cut the sass while you’re at it, Spider-Bitch.” 

 

Peter stopped walking just to turn around and glare at Tony. Tony shot an innocent smile. 

 

Tony decided to set up the couch for Peter so he could watch movies, as he usually did when he was this high. Peter returned, only to have a bottle of Powerade Zero chucked at him from half across the room. 

 

“I set up the couch so you can watch movies and rest while you’re coming down.” Tony began. “I know you usually like to do that.”

 

“Is this your apology for calling me ‘Spider-Bitch’?” Peter retorted. A sarcastic grin grew on his face. 

 

Tony walked toward Peter. “I’m not going to apologize for that. It was funny. Don’t make me feel bad.” He began walking to the hall. “I’ve got some stuff to work on. I’ll be in the lab if you need me. I have my phone.” 

 

Peter was situating his blanket on the couch. “Tony- wait.”

 

Tony turned around. He cocked his head, waiting on Peter to finish. 

 

Peter’s voice was quiet. “Do you have to?”

 

Tony did have work, but mostly wanted to stay out of Peter’s hair. “No, no. ‘Course not, kid.” 

 

“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be alone.” Peter vocalized timidly. “I really don’t feel good.”

 

Tony made his way to the couch. “Bud, you don’t have to feel sorry. It’s okay to not feel good.” 

 

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair before sitting beside him. Peter leaned his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

 

“Can we watch the really bad Justice League movie?” asked Peter, playing with the hems of his blanket. 

 

Tony smiled and shook his head. “Hate-watching time.” 

 

Peter shot up off the couch right as Tony was about to press ‘play’. He luckily made it to the kitchen trash bin, where he proceeded to vomit. 

 

Tony raced to his side. Peter clung to the can, feeling inescapably dizzy. 

 

Tony rubbed his back. “It’s okay, Pete. You’re gonna be okay.”

 

Peter tried to pull away from the receptacle numerous times, only to start retching again. He started crying, continuing to vomit bile. 

 

He was finally able to pull away from the bin. “I hate this.”    
  
“I’m so sorry, Pete.”

 

Peter made a noise of acknowledgment and sunk into himself, making himself as small as possible. Tony knelt next to him and patted his shoulder. 

 

“Do you want some water or ginger-ale or something? Or your Powerade?”

 

“I want this disease to go to hell.” 

 

“I know you do, bud. I do too.” Tony wiped Peter’s eyes. 

 

“Can I check my blood sugar again?”

 

“Yes, please do.” Tony grabbed his meter case for him off the counter. 

 

Peter bloodied the test strip. The five seconds felt more like five minutes to Peter. Everything felt horribly slow. 

 

“Shit.” Peter sighed. It still was too high. 

 

Tony looked at the boy with concern. Peter started crying again, his tears quickly disheveling into sobs. 

 

Tony hugged him, letting him sob into his shoulder.

 

“I know it’s really hard right now, and your senses are overloading, and everything really sucks, but you really need to try and calm down for me.” Tony said gently. “It’s just gonna make you higher.”

 

Peter’s breathing hitched on a sob. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, no, Pete, no. Don’t be sorry, kid.” Tony pulled away to look at Peter. “This shit sucks, and it’s a lot for a kid to handle, okay? It’s okay to cry. I just don’t want this to get worse.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Do you want to try laying down again? Maybe a nap?” Tony suggested.

 

Peter wanted to protest, but agreed. A nap sounded great. 

 

Tony led the boy back to the couch, covering him and tucking him in. 

 

“I’m not gonna leave, okay? I’ll be right here.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

Tony let Peter sleep, continuing to periodically test his glucose level. It took nearly an hour, but Tony finally got a numerical reading from him.  _ 576 _ . 

 

Forty-five minutes later, Peter stirred when Tony couldn’t get blood and had to stick him twice. Peter blinked his eyes open. Disorientation was present across his face. 

 

“I’m just checkin’ you. I think you’ve plateaued around five-fifty.”

 

“Stab me again and let me sleep.” Peter muttered. He turned over to bury his face in the back of the couch. 

 

Tony shook his head. He didn’t want to, but did end up caving and administering Peter’s correction for him. 

 

Peter awoke an hour or so later, a groggy, sickly expression clouding his features. “Wha’s m’ bl’ sugar?” 

 

“I haven’t checked it in a while.” Tony replied, looking up from his laptop. He tossed Peter his meter pouch.

 

Peter attempted to stifle a yawn. “Thanks.” The boy stretched.

 

Tony looked at him, making sure he didn’t fall asleep while checking, which he’d been known to do. 

 

“Three-fifty-seven.” 

 

Tony nodded. “Don’t correct again, you just had one like, an hour ago.”

 

Peter brushed the bag off his lap and into the floor. “I’m hungry.” 

 

“Do you think you could keep anything down?”

 

Peter thought about it. “Probably not.” He pulled the blanket to his chest. 

 

“We’ll get dinner when your blood sugar stablizes.” 

 

Peter groaned, pushing the comforter off himself. “I have to pee again. I’ll be back.”

 

“Check ketones, Parker.” 

 

“I always do.”

 

Peter returned with an annoyed expression. “Moderate to large.”

 

“Drink water. Or your Powerade”

 

“I don’t wanna puke again.”

 

“If you do, at least you’re expelling ketones. You know, life threatening _ blood acid _ .”

 

Peter’s face contorted into a disgusted smirk. “I’ll drink water.” 

 

“Good spider-ling.” 

 

Peter returned with a large water bottle. “What are you working on?” 

 

“I’m just replying to emails.”

 

“Ew, sounds adulty.” Peter made a face. 

 

Tony chuckled. “You have no idea.”

 

***

 

“Fall rate notification from Peter Parker.” FRIDAY said into the room, exactly when Peter’s phone emitted a cascading series of beeps.

 

“Got it, FRI.” Tony said back to the AI. “Pete, blood check. Please.”

 

Peter huffed, not wanting to pause his  _ entirely ironic _ viewing of Fortnite memes. He promptly grabbed his meter. 

 

“Uh, Tony?” Peter looked at his reading with doubt. “I’m one-hundred-three.”

 

“That can’t be right, you were almost four-hundred an hour and a half ago.” 

 

“I’m gonna check again.” 

 

“Don’t bother. FRIDAY, what’s Peter’s dexcom reading?” Tony called out. 

 

“Ninety-six and dropping at a pace of two milligrams per deciliter per minute.”

 

Tony set his laptop on the seat beside him and went to retrieve Peter’s blood ketone testing meter. 

 

“Check blood ketones.” 

 

“One-twenty-seven.”

 

“Motherfu- get three glucose tabs and keep flushing ketones.”

 

“I literally would rather die. The company sent  _ orange _ tabs.”

 

“Half a cup of juice? Peanut butter? Something, I don’t care.”

 

***

 

Peter raced into the room. “Tony!” he yelled, clearly over-excited.

 

Tony simply turned around, raising one eyebrow.

 

“Small ketones!” 

 

“That’s great and all, but check blood ketones, too.” 

 

Peter hummed excitedly. “Forty-five!”

 

“That’s- acceptable. Blood glucose?”

 

“Dex says one-fifteen.”

 

Tony thought for a minute. He looked at his watch. “It’s a quarter ‘til five. You hungry?” 

 

“Uh, duh.” Peter paused for a moment. “I want Subway.” he declared. 

 

Tony smiled. “Pre-bolus.” 


End file.
